


Fields of Sorrow

by PacketofRedApples



Category: Se7en (1995)
Genre: Drabble, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-24
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2019-03-23 13:00:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13788276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PacketofRedApples/pseuds/PacketofRedApples
Summary: Between the bullets that were laid to rest in John Doe and the moment David was sat in the back of the police vehicle.





	Fields of Sorrow

**Author's Note:**

> Title and basic idea from an Orden Ogan song, but written mostly by inspiration from "Where's my love" by SYML.

The shots come one after another, rapid as it could possibly be. He leaves almost all his bullets in the dead body of John Doe. But his anger, it only fades momentarily. His numb body, barely stringing itself together, barely holding him up… it moves to the path, slowly but surely. It walks there.

It takes a while and somewhere along the way he hears a voice talking, steps that follow him. But it’s all faded and distant. He doesn’t care for it, doesn’t want to concern himself with it. There’s only one clear mission in his mind—that is to check what is in the box. To be sure.

Because even if he was told, he still couldn’t believe it. There’s still that denial. That rejection of this reality. The need to be sure for himself…

And he wishes he hadn’t wanted all of that. Once he’s next to the box, he eyes it’s content from above, collapsing on his knees right next to it. He can’t muster a word, he can barely breathe.

He can’t believe that what he’s facing is the head of his loved one. Tracy. It was actually Tracy’s head. All bright hair and wide eyes, all paler now. It was sickening. He could barely keep the bile from rising in his throat.

Soon enough his gun faces him and he looks down at it, sobbing like a child. Uncontrollably. Mills didn’t even realize he was crying. However, just as David is preparing to press down the trigger—a hand grabs his wrist gently while the other attempts to carefully remove the gun from his hand.

“Don’t do it, David, please. Just give me the gun, at least now.” Somerset says, softly as he barely managed to maneuver the weapon out of the weakened grasp of the other man. Once he has the weapon he looks at it, grievously, placing it away in a minute.

William leans over the other’s body, dragging him up and bringing him to the car. His still crying form, his shoulders moving up and down but there’s a numbness and emptiness deep inside his bones. The older detective leans him against the car, concern clear on his features in the instance that he does it.

Eventually, David finally speaks up, taking in Somerset’s form through his tears.

“Where’s Tracy? I want to call her. Can we find a phone?” He sounds almost like a child at that moment and it pulls at other’s heartstrings.

“David…” They attempt to begin but stop, unsure what to say. “I’m sorry.” The conclusion is lackluster and certainly feels badly put together. Mills would need more than an apology.

It seems that what he said was bad enough because soon David’s crying gets worse and harder and he’s outright hysterical, besides the way he grabs onto the other and cries into him.

They continue to stand like that until a complete senselessness washes over the young detective. He pulls away, leans against the car and listens to the distant sound of sirens.


End file.
